Novak

by Suzanne Steele

  The man who now considers himself to be my Owner/Master, whatever the hell he thinks he is, dressed me this morning and I can’t thank God enough that he has some class. So, here I am, a grown ass woman who is now the Barbie doll of Russian thug. Oh, what a difference a day makes.

  It could’ve been worse. Thankfully, he basically dressed me the way that I would dress myself and I look the part of a classy business woman.

  The whole issue about the thigh highs has nothing to do with my preference in hosiery.

  The issue in my mind is that I am not five years old and no man is going to tell me how to dress. At least, that was the case until now and you can bet your bottom dollar that one way or another, I am going to get out of this situation and as far away as I can from Mr. Carl Sims, aka Novak.

  I kick myself for so easily succumbing to him and for how quickly my body betrayed me.

  You’re such a slut, I mentally chide myself.

  Geez, you couldn’t have opened your legs any more to the man if they had been pried apart.

  Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why had I let myself go there?

  I pull at the locked desk drawer to my right. Even though I know the diary is safely tucked away in its dark recesses, I just need to reassure myself.

  The thought crosses my mind, I can burn it and no one will ever know.

  I know that Carl Sims will not admit to the things that are in that diary. It reads more like a little black book than a personal journal. It’s a who’s who of information and intimates that Carl Sims has people on his payroll that go all the way up into the Senate.

  That diary is my insurance policy and the son of a bitch should be glad that it was me who found it and not someone else. At least I have enough of an open mind to not blow the whistle on anyone.

  No, that diary is my safeguard and I have no intentions of giving it up. I have worked too damn hard to have Carl, or anyone else, piss it all away.

  The only way that anyone will get that diary away from me will be when they pry it from my cold, dead hands.

  I know I’m walking a tightrope, because deep down inside, I know how dangerous Carl Sims can be if backed in a corner…

  Novak

  I lean back in my leather office chair, interlocking my fingers behind my neck. I let my mind drift back to the night before.

  Katrina had looked so good lying there, vulnerable beneath me, as I hammered away at her insides. The memory of the way her neck strained back into the pillow, as her mouth opened and her eyes rolled back in her head, has my cock stirring all over again.

  The way she had given in and it was no longer me who held her legs back, but she who opened them widely, inviting my intrusion, hints at the submissive she has locked away inside her.

  The little whines and gasps that came from her lips, as she helplessly lied beneath me as I took her, were music to my ears.

  She liked it; I that know she did. I like that she found pleasure in my bed. I love the idea that she tried so hard to not enjoy what I was doing to her and yet, in the end, she couldn’t resist.

  The best thing about this whole situation is the fact that I know Katrina will put up a fight each and every time. Whenever I want her, I will have to take her, because that is just the kind of woman she is.

  I have this thing in me—a need. I need to take a woman, to overpower her. I need my woman to resist and the more she fights, the more aroused I become. For me, when it comes to women, it always seems to be the same scenario; they get clingy and it turns me off. I like a woman who can resist me physically and emotionally. Seeing her try to fight off my advances makes my dick hard and tying her up, having her restrained and at my mercy, is a real turn on for me. I have always been this way. I like to pleasure women with pain and bondage. Katrina is a sexual novice, with an innate fire and a natural inclination to fight, and it turns me on something fierce. By the time I get done with her, she will be craving my kinky, fucked up style of perverse sex.

  I’m a man who thrives off challenge and Katrina is a big one. I have no doubt that I can take this woman—a woman who really hates me, a woman who doesn’t want to give in to my advances—and I can turn her into a woman who is a slave to her passions.

  By the time I am done with her, she will be a lustful volcano ready to erupt lava like heat that will overflow into my world and give me something that I desperately crave and need—passion, passion, and more passion…

  I’ve been bored sexually for the last year, fucking a different woman every night just to get off. This is the first time I have been sexually satisfied in years and I want more. I can feel my talons slipping deeper into her as I sit here thinking of ways to entrap her. After last night, she can forget about me ever letting her go. I just latched on to the best piece of ass I’ve ever encountered. Why in the world would I consider ever letting her escape?

  Chapter Six

  Katrina

  I type away, with five or six of my windows open on my computer, while I talk on my speaker phone. It’s how I function best and I don’t like being disturbed while I’m working. I’m purely professional at the office so I’m not pleased to see Novak saunter in like he owns the place.

  I look up to view him enter and can’t help the aggravation that rolls through me that he would come to my place of employment… again.

  “I’ll get back with you on this,” I tell the person on the other end of the line as I glare at Novak.

  “I think that you may be crossing a line by coming to my workplace, Novak.” I purposely put emphasis on ‘Novak,’ knowing he doesn’t like being called that.

  “Well, Katrina, your publisher is not really your boss. I mean, now that you have a New York Times best seller and everything, you could quit your little job here.”

  I squint my eyes, sizing up the man that stands before me.

  As usual, he is dressed impeccably, this time wearing a tan suit with a black, button up dress shirt. His tie has tones of black, gold, and tan running through it. Once again, his suited attire is topped off with a set of cufflinks and, today, brown leather Italian shoes. The tattoos on his hands are a total contradiction to his business attire.

  He makes his way over to my side, sitting on the desk right in front of the drawer that neatly holds all of his secrets away from prying eyes.

  He crosses his arms and looks down on me as he shakes his head and says, “Katrina, dear, that is not a suggestion. It is a mandate.”

  “Excuse me,” I shriek. He is fucking crazy if he thinks I’m quitting my job for him or any other man. “Let’s get one thing straight, buddy; I don’t work for you. You are not my man and you sure as fuck don’t tell me what to do!”

  Seriously, I’m appalled this man thinks he can come to my place of employment and demand I quit my job. Is he crazy? I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am career wise and I’m certainly not in the habit of making professional decisions that will affect the rest of my life based on a good fuck.

  He needs to go find one of his bimbo bitches if he wants someone to bow at his feet and rearrange her life for him because, to put it simply, it ain’t me, babe.

  Novak

  I chuckle as I lightly shake my head at the spitfire who sits before me. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  I viciously reach up and grab the back of her neck, pulling her to me.

  I lower my head, burying my face in her hair as I growl into her ear, “You put me in a very serious predicament when you took that diary. I have every intention of keeping a very close eye on you, young lady. You put your fucking notice in today, little girl. You work for me now!

  “How distracted have you been today, Katrina? How many times have you thought about how I violated you and tore down all the little boundaries you had safely walled around you?”

  I pull her head back, forcing her to look up at me.

  My hand slides up her inner thigh right past the top of her stockings. No longer do hose protect her from my possessive and invading hands. It was t
he whole purpose behind my mandate no longer permitting her to wear regular pantyhose. I want easy access to that sweet, little pussy of hers.

  “You see, Katrina, you can fight me all you want, but that little body of yours can’t get enough of me. I want my diary back, Katrina,” I hiss as I continue to stroke her inner thigh.

  “I, I, I, don’t have your diary,” she stutters through her obvious lie. Deception seems to come so easily to her.

  “Liar, liar, Katrina’s on fire. Liar, liar, Katrina’s on fire,” I repeat as I chuckle.

  My finger slides over the satin panties she wears until I can feel the wet spot that has formed. To her horror, she feels it too.

  “Oh, that feels good doesn’t it, girl? It damn sure feels good to me. I love knowing you want to fight me and you can’t. You have no idea how sexy it is to me, knowing how badly you want to hate me… but you can’t, can you?”

  “I do hate you.”

  “You’re a liar, Katrina.”

  “Fuck you, Novak.”

  I viciously yank her head back by a handful of hair and my cock jumps at the hatred I see in her eyes as she hisses at me through clenched teeth.

  “No, fuck you,” I hiss as I plunge my finger into her right when I say the word fuck. I immediately pull it out and then thrust it between her lips, demanding that she clean it off.

  “If you bite me, I’m taking my belt to you when we get home.”

  She reluctantly sucks her juices from my finger and I wave it under her nose when she’s done, preventing her from moving away by the firm grip I have in her hair.

  “You smell that? That is pure, unadulterated, animalistic lust, and I’m going to keep it there all day long so I can smell your pussy whenever the whim strikes. I’m going to bask in the glory of knowing that as much as you hate me, you can’t fucking resist me. You did this to yourself and if you’re looking for mercy, you fucked over the wrong guy.”

  I listen to the squeaks and whimpers escaping Katrina’s lips against her will and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything more beautiful.

  “Little thief, you need to be taken down a notch or two. Later on, after I dress you and take you out to dinner so you can be my arm candy, I’m going to bring you back home and violate your little ass again. But this time, I’m going to fuck you and torment you with orgasm denial. I like watching the horrified look on your face as your body betrays you. I like the control that I have over you in my bed.”

  I keep talking as my hands continue to work their magic.

  You see… I have a point to make and that point is whether Katrina wants me or not, there is a latent fire in her that only I can ignite.

  I stare into her eyes as her body helplessly reacts to my touch against her will. It’s happened—the change. I can see it in her eyes as she whimpers and mews while my hands stroke over her pussy lips. She has gone from defiant, to responsive, and she is now clinging to me with a look in her eyes as if I, and only I, can help her. I feed off of that look, the clinging, her neediness, and her ultimate surrender as she cries out to me.

  I taunt her after she comes, making her clean off my finger once again and waving it under her nose. “I’m primal and every time I smell your need, I’m going to think about all the ways I’m going to defile you later.

  “How does it feel knowing that you’re property? It must really bother a self-reliant woman like you to be robbed of her independence. You should have thought about that when you robbed me.

  “You should count yourself lucky because if you were a man, you’d already be on ice at the morgue. The only thing saving you is that tight little opening of yours. Well, there’s that, and the fact that you enjoy a good fuck fight just as much as I do. Don’t be late, Katrina, or you will be disciplined. You might’ve been able to lead your little office boyfriends around by their dicks, but you took it to a whole new level when you fucked me over. Once again, I’m giving you warning; if you fuck around on me, I’ll kill you both. You’re property, you’re owned, and you would do well not to forget it.”

  Katrina

  I can’t fucking believe it! The bastard has done it again. He has wormed his way right back into my panties.

  “Look at me, Katrina.”

  I raise my eyes and listen to a voice that now sounds distant to my addled brain, as if it’s coming through a tunnel.

  “You have your ass downstairs and in front of this building promptly at five. I have dinner plans with the Mayor and you are attending.”

  With that, he is gone. Once again, as quickly as he has entered and invaded my space, poof, he is gone…

  It seems like no matter how many speeches I prepare in my head when I’m away from him, he comes in and makes them null and void. I can’t ever remember being around a man with this commanding of a personality.

  He is in control of everything. It’s like when he walks into a room, he owns it. I don’t even think that it’s a conscious thing for him; it’s just something that he naturally does. I have never been subjected to anyone with that much confidence. He is the cockiest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. It’s like once he gets something in his head, it’s as good as accomplished. The problem is… he’s set his sights on conquering me and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to resist him.

  Chapter Seven

  Katrina

  I rush down the hallway. I have had all day to think about it and, as unbelievable as it may sound, I am actually more apprehensive about having to dine with the Mayor than I am about the danger that I’m in with my new admirer, the thug.

  I want to get ready the way I deem necessary and my goal is to get to my house and avoid Novak altogether.

  No sooner do my heels hit the pavement than a man’s voice is bursting through the silence and interrupting my thoughts.

  “Ma’am, I’m here to deliver you to Mr. Sims.”

  “Well as enticing as the offer of being delivered is, I believe I will just carry on in my wayward state,” I inform the man who sits behind the wheel of a luxury sedan.

  He chuckles, “Mr. Sims said that you were a spitfire. I have him on the phone and he would like to speak with you.”

  My heart immediately begins to race. It is becoming a habit lately. My body keeps reacting, in ways I can’t control, to a man that I just want to be free of.

  I take the phone in my hand and, trying to project innocence, I say, “I’m going to get dressed and you can pick me up at my house.”

  “Katrina, get in the car! Your clothing has been delivered here already.”

  “Why don’t you buy a fucking Barbie doll to dress or, better yet, a dumbass, bimbo blonde might fit the bill?”

  “Get in the car, Katrina. I am not a man who likes to repeat myself.”

  Without a word, I hand the phone back to the man, who looks more like a gun for hire than a driver, and get into the car.

  I eye him in the mirror from the back seat, sizing him up. It is something I always do with anyone and gender makes no difference. I think perhaps I picked up the habit when I started interviewing people for the magazine. Knowing how to read people makes for a good interview, though this is the first time I have ever had to utilize my skills on gangsters.

  He has bird-like facial features with the eyes of an eagle and my instincts are telling me that this man is no ordinary driver. Though he isn’t large and there’s nothing overtly threatening about his appearance, I know instinctively that he is dangerous. I can’t shake the feeling that this guy is an assassin—an international hit man type of assassin.

  Novak

  I speak into the phone, breathing in slowly and trying to exhale the frustration that threatens to hinder my goal. This woman has a way of pushing the limits of my patience unlike any other I have ever met. She seems to instinctively know how to push my buttons.

  Though I can feel the faint twitching in my temple that betrays my irritation, I manage to remain in control.

  I’m all about control and that means I also keep myself in check w
hen I’m frustrated or angry. It isn’t a habit I have learned; it is who I am.

  Sergei listens intently to my voice.

  “Do not let that bitch out of your sight! I want her brought directly here to me.”

  “Yes, Sir,” is all Sergei has time to say before the phone call is over and I hang up.

  Sergei knows me well and he, of all people, damn sure knows this is not common behavior for me concerning a woman. He’ll deduce there must be something very special about her and Sergei will guard her with his life, literally.

  Sergei

  I have a bit of a sadistic streak in me. Well, I guess I should say a streak a mile wide, because I like to torture people. My favorite thing to do is to torture those who cross my boss.

  This trait in me works out quite well for the both of us, but more than that, Carl and I grew up together and I have a deep-seated allegiance to him.

  Our parents were European immigrants. We had grown up in New York but Carl preferred California so when he moved out west, naturally, I went with him. The bond that we have goes much deeper than an ordinary friendship.

  The immigrants who came to America came in large groups and would, literally, take over whole neighborhoods in major cities of the US.

  Carl’s birth name was Mathias Novak but he had it changed when he left New York at a young age and relocated to San Francisco, California.

  You see, ‘Carl Sims’ sounded much more Americanized and he thought it would keep him from being viewed as a mobster or a thug.

  Carl likes to think of himself as a businessman with an edge and the word ‘mobster’ carries a stigma with it that he doesn’t want to be associated with.

  Being of European descent, he is very particular. He is a polished man, a very precise man, and a perfectionist at everything he does.

  Yes, it is true; not just any woman has the capability to snag Carl’s attention. It takes a certain something, if you will, and women like Katrina are few and far between.